Dan nodded his head. “I think the killer was local. He knew neighborhoods. He knew places to break in, and back then almost everyone had an axe. I don’t believe the Mob-connection theory. No hit man kills a two-year-old child.” He stopped to mop up the last bites of his dinner. “And I don’t think again that there was any particular hatred for the old couple and their help. But the killer knew them. Knew their home, their habits. Busy streets, I believe, are safe. This guy likes darkness and shadows and an escape route. Dessert? Or should we get going?” he asked.
Katie looked at the time on her phone. They’d been there a while.
“The desserts are amazing,” she said.
“Okay, what—”
“But we should get going.”
Dan smiled. “I’ll ask for the check.”
He swiveled in his chair to look for their waiter. Katie gazed out the front door. Their table happened to be positioned at one of the few angles allowing her to do so.
There was a woman in front of the door. She had waist-length, very dark hair. She was slim, maybe five foot six.
She was wearing jeans and a peasant-style blouse and carried a shoulder bag.
She moved impatiently, as if she was waiting for someone.
And she didn’t like waiting.
There was something about her...
Katie vaguely heard Dan speaking to the waiter, handing him a credit card.
She stood.
“Katie?”
She barely heard him. She turned and moved toward the front door.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought the woman looked through the door and into the restaurant. Looked at Katie.
For a minute, or forever, Katie felt as if their gazes locked.
Then the woman moved.
Katie went flying out the door after her.
People...there were so many people about. Of course. It was a tourist area; it was the French Quarter. They might be scared, but many had probably taken their work breaks and their savings to come here.
They’d told themselves they weren’t residents, they didn’t have homes here, they didn’t need to be afraid on the streets of New Orleans.
Katie was afraid she’d lost the woman in the crowd.
Then she saw her, heading down St. Louis Street toward the river.
Katie went tearing after her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dan wondered what on earth had happened to Katie.
Their waiter, in a dignified manner, was returning with his credit card. He made eye contact with the man and cried out, “I’ll be back!”
He couldn’t pause to sign the bill, and at least he wasn’t running out without paying it.
One thing for certain: he didn’t want Katie running loose on the streets alone.
Katie could move. Fast.
She was racing up toward Bourbon Street, doing an amazing job of zigzagging around pedestrians.
He caught up to her just as she reached Bourbon Street. She stood there, dismayed, staring in both directions.
“Katie, what the hell is going on?”
She didn’t hear him at first, then she seemed to jolt out of whatever she was in.
“I saw her.”
“Katie—”
“Her!” she snapped angrily. “The woman. The woman who was with Dr. Neil Browne on my father’s boat. Jennie!”
“Katie, we were in a restaurant—”
“Don’t, dammit! Don’t start doubting me. I’m telling you the truth. Look, you think you’re into all this. That you have to clear your conscience or something. No. That’s not enough. I want the killer caught. I want him caught before he does this to anyone else. I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. I saw her. She’s different. She had extremely long, almost black hair when she was out there, but I imagine it’s a wig. She can probably change like a chameleon. But I saw her.”
“All right,” he said. “So, she’s on Bourbon Street...somewhere.”
Katie nodded. “But I don’t know if she went toward Canal Street or Esplanade. I don’t know which way she went.”
“All right. I really don’t want you off alone. I’ll get Axel. He was going to hang out in the Marigny, see if he could learn anything there. He can be here in minutes—”
“She can be gone in minutes.”
“Then, pick a direction, and we’ll give your description of her to the first mounted policeman we find.”
She let out a sigh. “Okay. Toward Esplanade.”
They started walking, moving at a good clip but slowly enough to try to peek into the different venues along the way.
This was impossible, unless they had a small army. But while he walked, he called Axel.
Axel promised to be right there—with an army.
Katie wasn’t listening; she wasn’t paying any attention. She was determined to find the mystery woman.
They’d only gone a block and a half—past music venues, shops and two strip clubs—when he saw five police officers on foot approaching them.
“We need a description, ma’am,” one of them said, nodding to Dan and looking at Katie.
She gave the description quickly, looking back at him with a little bit of wonder.
“I’m Officer Forte. My guys and I are going to fan out and catch the places between here and Canal. Your FBI buddies are behind me. I’ll text them the description you gave me. They’ll be fanning in from Esplanade.”
“I... Thank you!” Katie said earnestly.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” Forte said, and nodding to her and Dan, he was off.
“We still need to keep going,” Katie said.
“We’ll keep going.”
They were down another block when Dan noted a trash can out on the corner by one of the crowded club venues.
He paused and looked in.
Either a dark-haired yeti had been shedding or there was a wig in the can.
“Katie!”
He pulled the hair from the garbage. It was a wig—a very long, very dark wig.
“Damn!” she cried.
He nodded toward the nearest club, heading straight for the door with her behind him. The bouncer at the door was a big man—ready to throw out
